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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427386">The Vengeful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amell/pseuds/amell'>amell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Traitor King [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Regrets of the Traitor (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Childhood Friends, Friends to Enemies, Heroes to Villains, Interrogation, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, probably not canon compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:55:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amell/pseuds/amell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He’s supposed to be your enemy. But all you can see when you look at him is the man you grew up with, years younger.</i>
</p>
<p>You wonder if Rollo realizes how different you are. How different he is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Traitor (Regrets of the Traitor) &amp; Arke Duskstriker (Regrets of the Traitor)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Traitor King [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Vengeful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You’ve been down here for what – one day, two maybe – when he visits you. It’s surprising, really. You were expecting that elven woman who beat you before, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks the same, and yet different. His tunic is finer than anything you have ever known, like dark silk, draped across his body. Gold embroidered leaves follow the low collar of his shirt, and you have to forcibly keep your eyes on his face to not stare. He’s watching you cooly, eyes almost vacant as he enters the cell. The woman from down the hall mutters something, but you don’t break eye contact with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? He’s looking at you with this curious expression like he doesn’t know what to make of you, and you want to shrivel up into a ball, away from his eyes. You never wanted to see him like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Is he even the man you once knew? You can’t help yourself from looking him over, eyes following his shirt, just barely avoiding glancing at the light skin of his chest. There are bruises, you know that. It’s just… There are bruises from </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> left on </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> and- You blink at the ring on his hand, anger vanishing, but it’s been years. He could have found someone, though the thought makes you feel sick and strange. Swallowing, you berate yourself. He’s supposed to be your enemy. But all you can see when you look at him is the man you grew up with, years younger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, you don’t want to cry, but you hate that this is what it has become. You were friends, once. Where was the man who had stared up at the night sky with you, counting the stars? Was he still in there, in this shell of a man who is standing before you? This man, who looks so tired, so exhausted, and so so much older than you remember. His eyes are doing that thing, where they get all cloudy and he forgets the present. You wonder what he’s thinking about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here you are, Rollo.” You say because he isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything. You haven’t been interrogated much, but he should be doing something, shouldn’t he? His eyes clear, and he must have snapped back to reality because you can see the change in him. He</span>
</p>
<p><span>“It’s been a long time, old friend.” You feel your throat constrict and you grit your teeth. How dare he, how </span><em><span>dare</span></em><span> he after everything he’s done call you-</span> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bullshit me, Rollo.” You say, and he breathes deeply, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. Fuck him. How dare he feel hurt, after everything he’s done?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet, his eyes not meeting yours, and you want to laugh. He’s sorry? Bull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, because an apology from you means so much these days.” You can feel your blood beginning to boil, rage simmering underneath your skin. The anger is a relief, now, instead of a hindrance. You don’t have a sword, don’t have armour or even fancy spells, but you do have </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Just tell me what you want. Don’t all Queen slayers have something they need from their prisoners or are you the type of enjoys watching people squirm?” You’re baring your teeth, He isn’t doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not moving, not speaking, not even flinching. Gods, has he really changed that much? The man you knew would have fought back, would have retorted with some witty quip or a snide comment. Instead, he just stares at you, eyes and face blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Information.” Are his eyes wet? The light is too low for you to see clearly, but you’d like to think that they are. He isn’t looking at you anymore, which is your only clue that he feels anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? Colour me surprised.” Rollo’s mouth twitches at that, although you don’t know if it’s in anger or in amusement. You grin up at him, rage surging in your veins. You’re going to make him react, make him do something. “What, pray tell, do you want to know? I’m all ears, your grace.” His hands curl involuntarily at that, and you wonder if he’s going to punch you. The anger in your blood sings at that, wanting it. Wanting the pain, the retaliation, the battle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop being a child.” His voice is smooth, almost bored, and you wonder if Rollo knows what he looks like when he does this. So much like the man you grew up with and yet… There is something else in his gaze that makes your stomach roil (and a small part of you uncomfortably hot). You don’t know what it is but you don’t like it. You force up a laugh, the bitter sound ringing through the cell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coward.” You let yourself slump, not looking at him anymore. The rage is slipping, now. You’re just tired. Tired of fighting, of the constant chaos, of the betrayal. You just want your best friend back. You just want things to go back to normal. They can never be normal though, not with you in this cell. Not with him standing above you like this. Rollo asks about the sword, and really you don’t know that much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Along with a lovely little scar I’ll have if I survive, it also gave me some sort of magic wasting disease.” Your eyes widen at his words. What? No, that wasn’t right. He must have been lying. Rollo must be trying to persuade you or - or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. (In the back of your mind something screams that Rollo is telling the truth. You push those thoughts down as quickly as possible.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… see.” You reply, swallowing back the fear that creeps up your throat. “It… must have been a mistake.” Rollo’s mouth twitches like he’s going to scream, and you almost want to see him do it. Instead, he reigns his anger back in - something you’ve never been good at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you know nothing.” Rollo rubs his hand across his mouth, something you’ve watched him do hundreds, if not thousands of times. Guilt prickles in your stomach. Is there really </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can do?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” You hang your head, “I can’t help you. I didn’t know…” you don’t know how to continue. You won’t give up any information, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what can you tell me about the people you’re working with?” The anger bubbles back up in your stomach, and you snap your head back up to look at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.” You resist the urge to snarl at him, watching as his eyes widen slightly. “Not for you. What we were is not what we are now and you will do well to remember that.” Letting your eyes fall to the ground, you decide to play dirty. "Wolfe would not have wanted this for you." You hear him inhale sharply, and a glance at him shows that his fists are clenched, shaking slightly even.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t get to say that to me.” Rollo’s voice is underlined with rage, but he forcibly breathes out, flexing his hands like he’s wanting to hit you again. You almost wish he would. At least then it would confirm something about your old friend. “You’re not exactly in the position to be trying my patience, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Arke</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The name stings, but you suppose it’s only fair. You did bring up Wolfe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe. But I have principles, unlike someone I know.” Rollo’s mouth forms a thin line, and it’s almost funny to see him like this. “And Blackhearth? When we left you promised me-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arke-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised</span>
  </em>
  <span> me that we wouldn’t stop until we’d wiped out those that hurt us!” You cut in, growing louder with each passing word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was a long time ago, Arke.” Rollo sounds almost tried, a weariness settling across his shoulders. You just glare up at him, keeping quiet as he asks you question after question. It’s a familiar dance between the two of you, and you keep the anger in your chest, ready to utilize it at any moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” You almost want to scoff at his question. Instead, you allow yourself to form a sneer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” You scoff. “I, personally, had to see for myself just how low you’d fallen. Guess I was naïve for thinking you weren’t the monster everyone says you are.” You watch Rollo’s eyes harden, and the anger almost bubbles out of your chest and into your mouth. Grinding your teeth together, you mentally reprimand yourself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get a grip, Arke.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, even your thoughts are beginning to sound like him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continues to ask and you continue to withdraw, refusing to give in. Both of you prod at the other until Rollo turns away, rubbing at his temples. Slumping slightly, you allow for the anger to dissipate. You watch as he looks outside the cell, and your eyes stop on the torch. He… Rollo wouldn’t do that to you, right? Anxiety makes your stomach churn, and you swallow sharply as Rollo stands still. He wouldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You let out a shaking breath when Rollo shakes his head slightly, and makes his way out of your cell. You spit something at him as he leaves, but soon you are left in silence once more. Letting your head tip back, you sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked… strange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Same high cheekbones, sharp jaw and nose, inky black hair and light eyes. He’s intimidating, although the bags under his eyes don’t help that. He carries himself like a noble-born, now, instead of the farmer’s son he is. You chuckle slightly at the thought of Wolfe seeing his boy now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a strange sort of aura surrounding him. Maybe being King had changed more than you could see. Or maybe...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, what if the rumours were true? That your friend (your best friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>) had sold his soul to the gods for power. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You shake your head. No, you refuse to believe that. Rollo is just a man, albeit one who holds a frightening amount of power.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s just a man. Nothing more, nothing less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(If only that were true)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hmmmm I’ve had this in my drafts for a hot sec and i finally decided to finish it</p></blockquote></div></div>
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